


I Owe it All to You

by ElsieGlass



Category: The Last of Us (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Aged-Up Character(s), Bonding, Canon Related, Complete, Dystopian, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family, Father Figures, Father-Daughter Relationship, Feelings, Fingerfucking, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings, Nudity, One Shot, Orgasm, Original Character(s), Porn, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Relationship(s), Sexual Content, Smut, Spanking, obscenity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElsieGlass/pseuds/ElsieGlass
Summary: Joel and Ellie's lazy Sunday afternoon takes an unexpected turn after old jealousies resurface over an anecdote about Tommy. Tempers flare and loyalties sway but the best part about fighting is making-up.
Relationships: Ellie Williams/Joel Miller, Ellie/Joel (The Last of Us)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 69





	I Owe it All to You

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is set in the time-jump universe from Act III of [The Great Beyond series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589026) where Ellie is nineteen and lives with Joel out west. If you'd like context, you can find it in the links below.
> 
> • Act III's first time-jump spans from [Chapter Eight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564579/chapters/54016288) through [Chapter Ten.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564579/chapters/54049939)
> 
> • Act III's second time-jump spans from [Chapter Eighteen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564579/chapters/54209029) through [Chapter Twenty-Eight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564579/chapters/54427291)
> 
> • Additional context can be found in Act II's [Chapter Thirteen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22336039/chapters/53567113) where Joel tells Ellie an anecdote about how he met Tess in Boston.
> 
> I Owe it All to You is a work of fan fiction based on Bruce Straley/Neil Druckmann's The Last of Us video game (2013) by the game development studio, Naughty Dog, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Sony Interactive Entertainment. 
> 
> While this story makes reference to actual events and people, certain characters, characterizations, incidents, locations, and dialogue were fictionalized or invented for purposes of dramatization. With respect to such fictionalization of invention, any similarity to the name or to the actual character or history of any person, living or dead, or any product or entity or actual incident is entirely for dramatic purposes and not intended to reflect on any actual character, history, product, or entity.
> 
> I support the inalienable right to free expression and the inherent value of copyright. I hope my work encourages and inspires writers everywhere to create and make their own works that greatly enrich their lives and the fan fic culture. 
> 
> Copyright (c) 2020 by Elsie Glass.
> 
> All rights reserved. 
> 
> ElsieGlassGlass@gmail.com
> 
> [Twitter @ElsieGlass20](https://twitter.com/ElsieGlass20)  
> [Insta @realelsieglass](https://www.instagram.com/realelsieglass/)
> 
> Happy reading! Xo

I OWE IT ALL TO YOU

BY ELSIE GLASS

Every Sunday is the same as the Sunday before. We had a nice big breakfast. Joel recently killed a ram. I prefer him to do the hunting. I don’t like killing but it has to get done. He roasted-up the tenderloin while I fetched a couple big potatoes from the patch, careful not to cut them with the shovel as I dug them up. It's a good crop this year. No scabs, no rot, no wormholes. We ate them roasted with blueberry pie for dessert.

We lay on the couch at opposite ends with our feet in each other’s laps. The dirty dishes soak in the sink. Like all the furniture in the house, Joel hewed the couch from the mountainside spruces and his rifle cut down the soft warm pelts draped over it. He made everything with his own hands. Our beds to sleep, our tables to eat, and our chairs to sit. He chose the wood himself, cut it down, and smoothed it. Joined the joints and nailed them. He has a big work shed out by the stable. The floor’s covered in shavings. There are frames, and lots of timber and tools. Woodworking suits him. The woodworkers at Jackson were quiet soft-spoken men. His hands were an absolute mess from making all our furniture. Covered in cuts, new and old, and bandaged and needing to be bandaged.

I feel the warmth coming off his big heavy body. He smells clean, like our cedar soap. When we drifted, I got used to the smell of his dirty clothes and the strong smell of his unwashed body. He’s supposed to smell clean like this, I think to myself. I play with his big feet and he massages mine. Brisk embers pop in the big central fireplace and the house smells of sweet wood smoke. This house means everything to him. When he tells me stories about his old home in Texas, it’s full of Sarah’s missing voice. There are no bad memories in this house. I’ve replaced them all.

A couple days ago, he came back from a week of solo scout, aching and tired. He bagged nothing. Not a single thing. Sometimes it happens. He’s always starving when he gets back. He drank the big pail of sheep’s milk I set on the table, and browsed on biscuits and butter. He took off his big boots and headed for the bathroom. I gathered his dirty clothes and looked them over for mending. I take great pride in taking care of him and keeping our house clean, a single-story fort-like home of thick adobe walls that no bullet can penetrate. He finished bathing to the smell of our dinner filling the house and he told me it was the most wonderful smell in the world. We ate dinner stretched out by the fire, and drank moonshine whisky mixed with boiled water and sweetened with honey. I’m a restless sleeper and I slept well that night with his big heavy sweaty body lying next to mine.

He breaks the silence by clearing his throat. He asks me if I'm bored. I look at his big face, deeply tanned from the sun. The hair at his temples is thick and grey. I tell him the truth. That I’m never bored. There’s always plenty of work to do and not enough time to do it. Tending to the livestock, crops, and gardens. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, and laundry. If I were to sit down and make a list of everything I do all day, it wouldn’t amount to much but I’m busy from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed. It’s early summer and there’s lots to be done. There’s no extra flesh on either of us. I don’t mind the hard work with him by my side. The air’s always fresh and fragrant, and we’re always gathering good food to eat. When he’s in a good mood, he hums a song he learned from his pappaw. He said he was a good man. He looked mean but he was a good man. Sometimes he smiles while he works and it’s nice to see him smile.

When the hard work of the summer is over, fall brings us great comfort. My favorite month is October when the weather’s still nice and mild. If it’s a good harvest, we can be as lazy as we want with all the free time in the world. We can eat as much as we like and laze around without feeling guilty. The animals are always plump and our crops are always super-ripe. Joel’s jeans fit tighter around his waist. I love the extra weight on him. He gets a little belly but it’s still full of muscle.

I turn the question back to him. Does he ever get bored? Never, he says. Everything he’s ever wanted in his life he already has. He squeezes my foot for emphasis. He means me. I’m the Everything he’s ever wanted. Isn’t that such a nice thing to say to someone? He’s always so kind and good to me. I think of myself without him and it’s like a body without a heart. I tell him we both deserve it after all we’ve been through.

“Don’t think about it,” he says. “We’ve both got enough scars to remind us when we forget.”

“I like having my own place,” I say.

“I like having my own things and keeping things tidy,” he says.

I don't tell him this but sometimes I find it boring out here. I suppose I miss the excitement and drama of Boston and Jackson. Dogs barking, neighbors fighting, and children playing. Everyone knew everyone’s business, like what you ate for breakfast and dinner. If we died out here, no one would even know we’re dead. No one would miss us. I suppose Tommy would eventually find out but he’s as elusive as a comet. You never know when he and his Hell’s Rangers will show-up for a visit.

“Folks should grow-up where they’re born,” Joel says. “Tommy was different. Always running off. When he came to visit, it was like he was doing us a big favor when he talked with us or sat down to eat with us.”

“He’s got his flaws,” I say.

“I know it sounds like I don’t like him very much but I care about him. You’ve gotta take folks as they are.”

“He’s too arrogant and ambitious for this kind of life,” I say. “I get why he took the oath.”

“I wasn’t surprised. I knew him too well. I knew one day he’d figure it out after trying to talk sense into that thick skull of his.”

“He said so?” I ask.

“He came back after he defected. I was his only folks left.”

“For forgiveness?”

“I wasn’t hurt. I know what he’s like.”

I think about this. Tommy going back to Boston to see Joel after he defected from the Fireflies. He tried to get Joel to join, but Joel saw them as cultists and renegades. He told Tommy he’d regret his decision and that he was a fool for taking the oath. Tommy must’ve really wanted to see Joel to risk the long hard journey back to Boston. See, you needed papers to cross in and out of the QZs. If he crossed through a checkpoint, his papers must’ve been forged and he must’ve worn a really good disguise, but even if you had papers, they meant little. If a soldier wanted to kill you or arrest you, they’d do it all the same. You had to bribe them. Tommy’s payoff must’ve been huge because he was a wanted man. After the Fenway Heist, he had a target on his back. He knew he’d hang if he got caught. It’s the reason he left Boston. To take the heat off things. I know the whole story. How on New Year’s Eve, he and his Allston crew raided Fenway Park where FEDRA had set-up a depository. That night, they stole truckloads of weapons, medicine, ammo, gas, and alcohol while the soldiers were drunk and shooting-off fireworks. It was the biggest theft in the history of the Boston QZ and they got away with it.

“How the hell did he swing it?” I ask.

“Same way he snuck out,” he says. “Swept down the Charles on a moonless night. Remember I told you he holed-up at the Last Chance?”

I do. The Last Chance was a seedy old bar off Kenmore Square, the headquarters of the Back Bay Black where Joel and Tess ran as smugglers. The whole basement was dug-out with cells where rustlers, bootleggers, and mafia could hole-up and lay low before breaking out of the QZ.

“There was a wall along the Charles made outta bricks on sliding casters,” he says. “Tommy slipped out one of ‘em decoys and let the tide sweep him out to the harbor. He said the water was so cold, he thought he’d die. He came back on a Sunday. Tess and I were down at the shore. We got back and the door was half open. I damn near shot off his head!”

I laugh at this. This is why I love Joel. He always has something to say. He knows how to make good conversation. Before him, I was used to dull men who made dumb comments all the time. I suppose before the Critical, people had newspapers, books, radios, TVs, and the internet, so they always had stuff to talk about. People born after the Critical only know how to talk about the weather, fish, birds, and trees, and that’s about all. Joel’s not like that. He’s always full of good stories.

“I was glad to see him,” he continues, “glad he was safe. I’d been hearing things about the Fireflies—raids, ambushes, rebellions. I thought about him every day he was gone, wondering if he was safe. I was worried the Fireflies busted the devil clean outta him, worried he didn’t have a whole lotta nerve left in him, but he still brought the ruckus! They tried to get him to stay, said he'd be more useful with them than with anyone else. He liked being a Firefly. The guns, the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the fights. But he didn’t like being beneath no man, always wanted to have a free hand in things. To come and go as he pleased. Everything comes to an end, yeah? That night we threw him a party and invited his old crew. Tess wasn’t much of a homemaker but she was a mean cook.”

“You always remember her meals,” I say.

“I do.” He smiles warmly at the memory of her and sobers a moment later. I feel heaviness coming off him. “Right before daybreak, three military trucks came tearing through the courtyard with their lights blazing. I was still up, hadn’t slept a wink. Heard that voice deep in my gut— _something’s coming off._ Tommy was passed-out on the couch. I hollered at him to get up, told him they were coming, and that I’d take care of it. They started banging on the door. Tommy came tearing into the kitchen with his stuff. In the back, we had a pantry with a false wall. I shoved him in and closed it up. It was tight but hidden. You could tear down the whole quad and never find it. I took off my shoes and socks, shucked down to my boxers, and went to the door as calm as I could. They were banging so loud, I figured they’d kick it in. I opened the door, and was shoved back into the kitchen and backed up against the table. I was surrounded. Uniformed and plainclothes thugs. I looked around at their faces and saw Tack.”

I startle at this. Tack was Tess’s first partner in the Black before Joel bought out his share and things got contentious. He went renegade, joined the military, and rose to the rank of sergeant. He was hell-bent on arresting Tommy and his Allston crew for the Fenway Heist but he could never get to them, so he went after Joel instead and arrested him on false charges. He detained him at a squalid interrogation camp on a small island in the Massachusetts Bay where he was tortured for refusing to reveal Tommy’s whereabouts. Tommy used his deep connections to arrange Joel’s escape by sending-in a doppelgänger, and Joel swapped clothes with him and walked-out free.

“‘Sergeant Turner,’ I said to him with a smile. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ He wound back his arm and clocked me in the jaw. His men caught me. ‘Where’s your brother?’ he goes. ‘Tell us everything you know.’ His face had changed since I saw him last. It was harder, crueler, thinner, and meaner, but he was the same man as before. I wasn’t afraid. I knew his type. Corrupted by power. ‘Why do you want him?’ I asked. I could feel the blood pouring down my neck. My lip was split. ‘Where’s Tommy Miller?’ he goes. ‘We’ll kill you and kill him when we find him.’

“‘Tommy Miller don’t mean nothing to me,’ I said and watched his fist smash into my jaw. My whole head was ringing. I swung out to hit him but someone chopped me down from behind with the butt of a rifle. ‘You gave us quite a scare, sneaking outta camp like that,’ he said, talking about the time I busted outta that interrogation camp right under his nose. ‘You should’ve mentioned you were a master of disguise.’ ‘Seems like you found out yourself,’ I said and he punched me again. I fell off the table to my knees and someone hauled me back up. He yelled at his men to search the place and they scattered. I heard Tess hollering from the bedroom and they brought her to the kitchen. ‘Shut her up,’ Tack goes and I heard a loud slap. He told them to take her outta his sight and that’s when I knew I was in trouble.

“‘Leave him alone!’ she goes. ‘No one’s seen Tommy in ages! He’s dead for all we know!’ They took her outside. I was glad they did. I didn’t want her to hear or see what was gonna happen to me. Tack’s thugs came back into the kitchen and one goes, ‘One bed, one couch. The couch is still warm. Someone was sleeping on it.’ ‘That was me,’ I go. Tack punched me in the gut and called me a liar, then he turned to his thugs and told them to tear the place apart. He turned back to me and goes, ‘You’re gonna pay for your brother’s crimes. You know that, don’t you? You won’t get away with it. Tell us where he is. If you don’t, we’ll find him and kill him anyway. It’s just a matter of time.’

“‘Tack,’ I told him square, ‘I don’t know a goddamn thing about my brother, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be telling you sonsofbitches.’ I steeled myself for what I knew was coming. Thing is, I knew how I felt that night, like I could survive anything. There was no way in hell I was gonna talk. I would’ve roasted in hell for a thousand years before I’d turn Tommy over to that greasy sonofabitch. I wasn’t afraid. I was mad. Mad at them for breaking into my house, pawing around Tess, threatening my little brother, and pushing me around. They knew I knew where Tommy was and I knew it was gonna be bad. I didn’t care.

“I blacked-out a couple times. They threw water on me to wake me up. Every time, there was a different face in mine trying to get me to talk. Tommy could hear everything from where he was hiding. I pictured him in there, standing with his guns cocked and his face pressed to the door, ready to bust outta there and chop ‘em all down. I prayed he wouldn’t. Fact is, we were outnumbered and our luck had run out. They’d kill him, kill me, and kill Tess. I knew it wasn’t easy for him, listening to what was happening. I knew he couldn’t think of anything but his brother getting beaten for a crime he committed. But he knew me. He knew I wouldn’t talk.

“I remember thinking about my dad and how tough he was. The tough stock that ran on his side of the family. They’d bend but never break. I remember thinking those things. I blacked out for a long time. I felt myself getting wet every time they tried to get me up. I knew what was happening but I couldn’t open my eyes. When I opened them again, Tess was wiping my face with a wet rag. I knew it was bad by the look on her face. Tommy was there. He sure was riled! ‘I swear to God,’ he goes, ‘I had to force myself not to bust outta there and kill all ‘em sonsofbitches. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.’

“Tess asked me how I felt and I told her I felt like hell. That’s when I realized I was on the kitchen floor, soaking wet. There was blood everywhere. I was still too numb to be in a whole lotta pain. That came later. I felt something loose in my mouth and pulled it out. It was a tooth. I pulled out another and Tommy goes, ‘Looks like your modeling days don’t go no more, brother!’ They got me to a chair, and I tried to move my arms and legs. I couldn’t move one of my arms. I was lucky it was just one. I figured they’d broken every bone in my body.

“Tess started patching me up. My face and body were a mess of cuts and bruises. She laid me down on the table so she could get to my feet. They’d burned the bottoms. I must’ve passed out ‘cause I woke up a short time later with her looking out the window, cursing like the devil, ‘They set Pritchard’s place on fire!’ He was one of the men who ran in Tommy’s crew. They went after Pritchard. They killed him and burned down his place. I knew we had to go, knew they’d be back. It might not be the next day but I had a bad feeling it would. I managed to get up but my feet hurt real bad. I never thought I’d be able to walk but I could. We needed to get to a doctor to set my arm. I knew I wasn’t gonna die, but the burns on the bottom of my feet had to be treated. I didn’t trust nobody, didn’t wanna go, but Tess knew him. He patched me up and we laid low in Roxbury for a while. Goddamn, I hated that quad but the military hated it worse. We never saw ‘em!”

He's trying to lighten the mood with a joke but I don’t laugh. I feel a great sense of tragedy for all he’s endured. There’s no dignity to torture. He’s told me stories about Tack before, and from what I know, he and Tommy had every opportunity to kill him first. Why didn’t they just kill him first? “You should’ve killed him when you had the chance,” I say.

“Blood’s blood,” he says. “Murder’s murder.”

“Kill or be killed,” I counter.

“Doing things ain’t always as right as not doing ‘em,” he says.

“There’s no loss or sadness to the world when someone like that dies.”

“It wouldn’t’ve mattered one way or another. I’m still alive, ain’t I?”

“Tommy’s lucky to have you as a brother. You saved him a thousand times.”

“Tommy always made a mess outta things and I tried to square ‘em. It was pointless trying to put him wise.”

“You’re a good brother.”

He runs a free hand through his hair and shoves his bangs back from his forehead. A deliberate movement. Something’s still bothering him. “I’ve got troubles, Ellie.”

What could be worse than getting beaten within an inch of your life for a crime you didn’t commit? Is he sick? Is he dying? Does he want to leave everything behind and start drifting again? “What is it?” I ask, trying to control my voice.

“Out of all ’em fellas in Jackson, why’d you fuck him?”

So that’s what’s bothering him? Every so often, it comes out. Why’d you fuck my brother, Ellie? Out of all the men at Jackson, why’d you fuck Tommy? You could’ve had anyone but him. Why couldn’t you just leave things alone? I suppose he’ll always feel dirty when he thinks about me with his brother. Dirtiness he didn’t deserve. He can never forget about this. He must feel sick to his stomach every time he thinks about me and his brother, just like I feel sick to my stomach when I think about him with anyone else.

I always smile sweetly and tell him all the things he wants to hear. ‘Stop being stupid, Joel. You know me by now. You know I do what I want.’ Sometimes it’s enough and sometimes it’s not. When it’s not, I tell him I couldn’t help myself. That I’m a nasty whore. That I’m a little bitch who didn’t know any better. You can’t get mad at bitches for doing bitch-ass things. Fact is, I wasn’t in love with Tommy. It was a teenage crush. Tommy represented hope. Taking a chance on love. I could tell Joel all of this but I don’t. It’s not that the truth would hurt him, it’s just that sometimes I don’t like him prying into my private affairs.

“If he wasn’t my brother, would you still have fucked him?” he asks.

“Please don’t ask me that,” I say.

“What’s he got that I don’t have?”

“He knows how to fuck.”

“So why do you fuck me?”

“Because you’re the man I’ve know the longest.” It’s the truth but it’s also not the truth. The truth is, I fuck Joel because I love him. Because we were made for each other. We’ve got solidarity and support. We confide in each other about our problems without judgment. But he’ll never see me as an equal. We’ll never have mutual respect. He was born and bred in an old-fashioned patriarchal society, and it taught him to control everything. Well, he can’t control me. I’m the one thing he can’t control.

“He ain’t the man for you, Ellie,” he continues. “Spend more than a week around him and you’ll get dog-tired of him right quick.”

Joel should be happy I fucked his brother and not some random stranger. At least he knows where Tommy’s been and who he’s been with. The truth is, every time I fuck Joel, he learns something Tommy taught me. How to suck him off. How to fuck him out. No man but Tommy taught me those things. He made a bad girl out of me and I was willing. I never pretended to be a nice girl. At Jackson, everyone flirted and fucked each other, and it came from the top. We followed Tommy’s lead. All the married couples had side pieces. Affairs were open secrets. There was an air of guilt and distaste about the whole thing so it carried an element of risk but as long as you followed the rules and there were no scandals, affairs were tolerated. You could fuck pretty much whoever you wanted but no sexual embroilments. Single girls like me were supposed to stay virginal until they got married. After marriage, they were expected to pop out a couple kids to pass-on their DNA. Once the husbands established themselves in a trade or a skill, and the wives no longer had children that needed constant nurturing, they grew restless. Everyone looked the other way. A lot of the later-born kids didn’t even look anything like their blood parents. We all knew why.

“Does he ever talk about me?” he asks. “What’s he say about me?”

I feel like I’m being battered by a ram. He wants to know every single detail of every single thought running through my head. What I’m thinking, what I’m dreaming, why I parted my hair a different way. Next thing you know, he’ll be telling me how to breathe! The walls of the house feel oppressive, like I’m suffocating. I need to get away from him. To put some distance between us. Thing is, everyone has the right to privacy. A place where they can feel free, without being spied on. A little garden or a patch of land where they know no one’s watching them. So where are you gonna go, I ask myself. I think about this for a moment. I’ll take Honor to the ridge. That’s what I’ll do. It’s a nice easy ride and our house is a good distance away. You step outside the front door and you can’t even see it beyond the morning mist. That’s how far it is. I pull from the couch and head for the front door to grab my load-out.

“Ellie, where are you going?” he asks as I step into my boots. I grab my ammo and gun belts from the wall pegs, and buckle them on. I take down my rifle and put in two cartridges. Two should be enough. “Where are you going?” he asks again.

“To the ridge,” I say and put on my hat. “Don’t follow me.”

“Take off your hat, Ellie,” he says. “Let’s talk about this.”

“I’m leaving!”

“Take off your hat,” he repeats.

“I need some space,” I say. “I need to think about things. It’s better for us.”

He thinks this over for a moment and says, “If that’s what you want.”

“That’s _not_ what I want!” I yell. Fact is, I don’t want to go. It’s hard to leave the comfort and safety of the house. Even though I’m stomping around in anger, I open the front door slowly and carefully. I always do this. You never know what’s waiting on the other side. I pray he doesn’t follow me into the stable because the minute Honor sees him, he whinnies and steps high, and snorts with excitement in a way that’s almost human. He never does that for me. He doesn’t love me the same way he loves Joel, always overjoyed to see him.

I saddle Honor, mount-up, and set him to a jog toward the ridge. It’s an easy ride from the house. There’s not even a shortcut, it’s so direct, but I always keep my eyes and ears open. The wild grass crushes beneath Honor’s flying hooves and the wind rushes against my face, sweeping back my hair. I let it take my breath away. I rein him in at the ledge, dismount, and look out over the distance. The land slopes away from my feet onto a clear peaceful sweep of wide open land. The bowl reaches toward the west coast, covered in a thick blue haze. A meandering river glints from the valley floor, which flows from a big lake and out to the sea.

I take off my boots and sit on a flat rock, enjoying the warmth beneath me. The sun is strong and the sky is deep blue. Joel will want to kill me when I get back, I think to myself. Maybe he followed me? He probably followed me. Surely he’ll come after me. His unwavering sense of duty and responsibility to protect me. I suppose he’s too mad to realize how impractical it’d be to follow me all the way out here on foot. I look behind me and I don’t see him anywhere. I’m overcome by a great sense of relief followed by a feeling of remorse. I realize I’m getting in the bad habit of snapping at him for the smallest things. Things I should’ve gotten used to ages ago. Taking my bad moods out on him. What’s happening lately is we’re getting on each other’s nerves. It’s only natural. We’ve been together almost every day and night since we met five years ago. It was bound to happen.

I should be more patient with him, I realize. Joel’s all man from head to heel but his heart is tender like a woman’s. He’s all tenderness and hurt. When he lost his daughter, he lost his laughter. He stopped believing in God, said God was a lie. A lie for men who wanted to believe in something greater than themselves. There was nothing left in his life after Sarah died. He didn’t care if he lived or died. It was all the same to him. He walked away from everything and turned his back on everyone. He left Texas for a strange far-away place. Boston. I suppose for a distraction. I suppose anyone who goes through something like that needs a distraction. A challenge. He met Tess and then he met me. I wonder if Tess realized this, too. That the love Joel had for Sarah almost killed him. I wonder if she took him aside one day and was like, ‘Hey, Joel, maybe you could try living for me, the woman who loves you?’ I wonder if he got angry at this or it made him sad. I can’t understand some of the things he went through because I never had a mother or father or sisters or brothers. I had no family. Not till him.

Joel nursed his sorrow for a long, long time. Tommy told me this. He said it wasn’t until Sarah died that he saw Joel slowly dying. He said it was difficult to watch. He told him he was being selfish. That he was acting like he was the only father in the world who ever lost a child. It didn’t matter. Joel didn’t care. Tommy tried to get him to see how miserable he was but he said he wasn’t miserable because he couldn’t feel a thing. He didn’t feel anything but he was full of hurt. Always hurting and hurting everyone around him. Now that he has me after losing his daughter, he treats me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.

The sun starts to lower in the sky. I need to head back before the far side of the valley goes dark from the setting sun. It’s against Joel’s rules to be out past sunset, not even on the veranda. I understand this rule and abide by it. The land out here’s wild, grim, raw, and rough. Treacherous mountain passes and boulder-strewn gulches. It takes a certain kind of person to travel out here, tough and resilient, like the wild bands of outlaws, cattle rustlers, and horse thieves whose tracks we sometimes come across in the dirt.

I mount-up and turn Honor homeward, streaming across the flat until the house comes into view. A thin blue smoke skein rises from the living room chimney. Usually when I ride back, the house looks cheerful and inviting, but today it looks gloomy and dark. I suppose Joel will be waiting for me outside on the veranda. Waiting for me to ride up, waiting to hear the steady thrum of Honor’s hooves. A little black dot below a rising cloud of dust. He’ll want to look me over to see if I had a brush with anyone. If he’s already gone to bed, I won’t wake him—he needs his sleep—but my intuition tells me he’s up. I’m sure of it.

The veranda comes into view and he’s not in sight. He won’t actually _kill_ me. He’d never do that. He never raises a hand to me. I suppose he’ll be hurt and angry at what I did. Riding off without him. I think about all the times he goes on solo scout and I never make a fuss even though I hate being left behind. I worry myself sick when he’s gone. God, bring him home, is what I always say when he leaves. God, bring him home safe. I worry one day he’ll disappear. He’ll say, Goodbye, Ellie, Goodbye, and it’ll be forever. I was only a couple days old when my own mother gave me up for adoption. I was aware my whole life orphans like myself weren’t supposed to know the meaning of love. I don’t mean the kind of love you get from falling in love but the kind of love you get from a family. I felt this kind of love from Joel and never from anyone else. It’s because of him I am who I am. I owe it all to him.

I stable Honor and groom him till his coat shines, polished and sleek. I tell him he’s a good boy and scratch his nose as the setting sun washes his stall golden. He’s a beautiful horse. His chest is broad, and his legs are strong and slender. His neck is beautifully arched, and his mane is shiny and thick. I say goodnight to him and head for the house. Joel will either be simmering or sulking. You never know which way the hurricane’s gonna blow. I don’t feel like fighting. All I want to do is get undressed and slip into a hot bath. I’m covered in dust and sweat from head to heel, and my hair’s wind-tossed and wild. The seat of my jeans is sweat-soaked from the saddle. We can talk about things tomorrow after we’ve both had a good night’s sleep. The turn of the day always makes things feel better.

I stop outside the front door and sigh deep. My heart feels heavy. I don’t want to go inside but it’s not like I can sleep out here on the veranda. I open the front door to find the fire raked and glowing. It blazes cheerfully in the central fireplace but the mood’s metallic. Joel stands with his back to the mantle, his body rigid and tense. His face is pale, and his lips are tight and set into a thin red line. He looks me over with restless eyes, taking me all in. He looks agitated and harassed. He’s had all afternoon to simmer and his anger’s boiled over. He wants to have a little talk with me, and by a little talk, I mean a big fight. I suppose one of us has to start talking so I do. “You shouldn’t have waited up for me,” I say.

“What in God’s name were you thinking, running off like that?” he bellows like an injured bear.

“I was doing some thinking,” I say.

“You’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” he says.

“At least it’s my own thinking.”

“Next time you reckon on thinking, you do it here.”

“I’ll go where I like, when I like, and you can’t stop me!”

He pulls himself up full length. “Look here, Ellie. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t stray off again. You hear me?”

“I’ll use my own judgment from now on.”

“You haven’t used judgement in a long time,” he sneers. Isn’t that a terrible thing to say? I think about snapping back but what’s the point? He’s an old man, set in his ways. Forget it, I tell myself. It’s a waste of time trying to interpret his changing moods. I shoot him a hard look and head for my room. “Ain’t saying nothing, yeah?” he yells at my back. “That’s what I figured! You go to bed and don’t let nothing bother you!”

I get to my room, sit on the edge of my bed, and start unlacing my boots. I’m glad to be back home, I think to myself. I love my room. It has small high windows and a narrow door that opens onto the interior courtyard. I think about how lucky I am to call this place home, how lucky I am to have my own room. Before now, I lived in dorms with dozens of other girls. No privacy. Everything in my room belongs to me and was made by Joel’s hands—my pony skin carpet, my moose hide moccasins, and my high and wide bedstead. I think about his kindness and generosity, and it makes me feel selfish and ungrateful. I suppose I should’ve apologized for riding off. The problem is, I don’t feel like I did anything wrong. Everyone’s entitled to their own privacy. To come and go as they please.

I finish working-off my boots and I hear him coming down the hallway. I suppose he’s looking for an apology and he wants to keep fighting. I know I’m right a moment later when he plants himself in my doorway. His body is tense. His hands are clenched into fists and his arms are held out from his sides. I look at his face, and I notice a bruise and a cut on his cheek. I think about this and realize he must’ve come after me after I ran off. I picture this in my head, him chasing after me, choking on the swirling dust from Honor’s hooves. Clamoring over boulders and rocks till his foot got caught in a ditch or he ran into a low branch. Or course he came after me. “What happened to your face?” I ask.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says.

“Did you come after me?” I ask.

“I ain’t running my legs down to stubs chasing after you!” he yells and I know that’s exactly what he did.

“Listen,” I say, “I’m sorry for running off.”

“Well ain’t that mighty big of you?” he sneers.

“It was selfish. I know. I didn’t mean for you to get so upset.”

“What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?”

“You knew where I was going!”

“It ain’t about that. I spent the whole time worrying about you! Worrying you got yourself killed!”

“Well, I didn’t.” I drop my eyes, and lace and unlace my fingers. I still don’t feel like I did anything wrong and I tell him. “What’s wrong with wanting a little time to myself? You go on solo scout all the time!”

“You ain’t pinning this on me!” he yells.

“I said I was sorry!”

“Now look here, Ellie. You live under my roof and you follow my rules. I’m asking you right now. When are you gonna settle down and start acting like a responsible young lady?”

“Never!” I scoff. “You knew what you were getting into when you met me! You knew I had a mind of my own!”

“That’s right,” he says. “You can play foolish when you want!”

“You knew exactly who I was when you met me,” I say. The first time we met, he and Tess came to escort me to the Fireflies. I pulled a knife on him! I tried to stab him! Marlene had taken me into custody after I told her what happened. How I was bitten but didn’t get infected. It was the summertime. I remember because I was wearing my favorite tank top. I didn’t even like him at first. Not really. I wasn’t comfortable around him. I was used to quiet men. Men who weren’t coarsened by hard labor. Men with slender hands and delicate wrists. I remember thinking he looked like he could lift an entire M3 Bradley with one hand, one of those battle tanks the military parked at the checkpoints. His palms were hard as wood and the backs of his hands were covered in thick black hair. I was always so conscious of my smallness next to his largeness. I knew something changed between us when I thought about him going away and leaving me behind, and I’d start to feel strange and lonely. “Remember the first time we met?” I ask. “I pulled a knife on you!” This brings a smile to my face. I hide it behind my knuckles but I’m sure he can see it, can see the anger melting from my face.

“You were just a dumb kid, making trouble,” he says. “You didn’t know any better.” He drops his eyes and scuffs the floor with the toe of his boot. I feel his whole body softening and his anger melting. “I reckon it’s your own fault getting mixed-up with a rowdy Texan.”

I smile smoothly. “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” I say. He scoffs but there’s no disdain or condescension behind it. “Even if you weren’t,” I say, “you have someone who loves you very, very much.”

He looks at me directly. There’s a bit of mischief behind his eyes. “You know something?” he asks, not waiting for an answer. “You’re awful cute when you get riled-up.” His face breaks into a twitching smile. All those beautiful wrinkles. I smile back and the look between us is full of understanding. It feels like a warm fire. He makes a quiet little laugh, which is a good thing. I feel this warmth between us and I want him to have his way with me. I want to be fucked and I want him to fuck me. I look at his big hands and I want to watch them run all over my body. I want him to feel me up in the way he knows I like. His fingers running into my navel, squeezing my ass, and feeling-up my breasts. Fact is, Joel knows how to fuck better than anyone else. Even if I knew anyone my own age, how many of them would know how to fuck as good as Joel? None of them. No one fucks as good as Joel.

“You know the best part about fighting?” I ask, not waiting for an answer. “Making-up.” I unbutton my jeans and slowly peel them off, moving my ass from side to side. I pull my t-shirt over my head and stand there in my bra and panties. “Should I finish undressing? Or do you wanna do it for me?” I run a hand over my belly and feel myself up, running my fingers into my navel. I pet my twat over my panties. “Are you gonna fuck me or what?” He comes over and grabs me by the waist. He pulls me against him, rubbing his hard cock all over me. “About time you made up your mind,” I say. He tugs at my bra, pulls it over my shoulders, and drops it to the floor. My breasts bounce free and loose against my chest. “You know I didn’t mean what I said,” I say. “That stuff about your brother.”

“I do,” he says. He starts feeling-up my breasts with those big strong hands and it feels amazing. We slip into each other’s arms and run our tongues into each other’s mouths, moving our hips like we’re slowly fucking each other. He pets me over my panties and I tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head. He rubs his face all over my breasts, kissing them. I tug at his jeans’ zipper and slip my hand into his fly, digging my fingers through his big thick sweaty bush. His cock is already nice and hard. I squeeze my fingers around it, pull it out, and play with it, jerking him off till he sports a good-sized erection. He licks and sucks my nipples till I can’t hold myself still. “I’ll eat you out if you’re ready,” he says.

“I wanna suck you off first,” I say.

“No,” he says. “Ladies first.” He pulls down my panties and pushes me against the bed, laying me on my back. I throw my legs wide open and raise my ass so he can get to everything better. He pulls off his boots with his jeans, climbs between my legs, and holds me wide open by my thighs, running his tongue along them and nipping at the flesh. He rubs his face all over my twat and slips his tongue over it but he doesn’t go inside, kissing all around the edges and licking my thighs. I groan from the tease of it all. I wrap my thighs around his head, desperate to feel his tongue inside me. “Lick me, Joel,” I beg. “Lick me!”

He touches the tip of his tongue to my split and licks the full length of it. I make soft little pleased sounds. He holds me wide open with one hand, digs in his tongue, and starts lapping-up mouthfuls. He sucks me for a bit, his whole face pushed against my slippery wet twat. He pushes my legs further apart and slobbers all over me, making those dirty cunt-sucking noises that drive me wild. I squirm beneath him, oohing and aahing. My thighs are burning up. He pulls away and looks at me up the length of my belly. His face is sopping wet with my juices, his whole beard slicked with them. “You’re so nice and wet,” he says. I'm so little but the wetness pours out of me. I feel it pooling beneath my ass and soaking the sheets. 

He pushes his face between my thighs, and sucks and licks all around my asshole. He runs a finger over it, pokes at it, and slowly pushes the tip of his finger up into it, licking and sucking all around it. He pushes his finger deeper and lets me slowly open up against it. He slips another finger into my twat, buries his head between my thighs, and sucks everywhere his fingers aren’t, lapping me with his tongue. It feels incredible. His fingers twist in and out of me, slippery and smooth. I make so much noise, I’m glad we don’t have neighbors. I tell him I’m going to come and I start coming like I haven’t come in a long, long time. When I finally stop, he holds me by my waist and lays his head over my thighs. He keeps the tip of his finger inside me and moves it around gently. Everything he does feels incredible. He bites at my thighs and rubs his nose all over my belly. I know he loves the taste and smell of me. Sometimes at night he lays with his head in my lap and his nose buried in my twat. He lays there and smells me, and tells me I’ve got the cleanest tastiest pussy he’s ever known.

He crawls up to me and we lay in each other’s arms, running our tongues into each other’s mouths. His lips taste like my twat. I’m dying to taste his cock, dying to feel it explode in my mouth. Dying to suck the come from his balls. I push him onto his back and climb between his legs. His erection sits up high and thick. I take it in both hands and squeeze my fingers tightly around it, watching it grow firmer. I kiss it, pushing my face along the shaft. It’s very large, and the head’s very wet and slick. I lick his balls and curl my tongue through his bush, running down his thighs. I slip my little body against him and rub his wet cock against my belly, moving my hips like I’m fucking him. I love the feeling of his thick sweaty bush mopping against my soft bare belly.

He runs his hands around my waist and cups my ass cheeks. He slaps them playfully, his warm open palm bouncing against my jiggling cheeks. His hand comes down harder and swifter. Smack! “Promise you’ll never fuck my brother again?” he asks. I gasp and squirm against him. Smack! His hand comes down harder in the same spot. I grunt and whip my hips from side to side. “I’ll fuck Tommy!” I yell. “I’ll do it again!” Smack! His hand comes down firmly across the thin skin of my upper thigh. I wail, my ass shuddering on contact. “Promise me!” he yells. “Or I’ll put a leash on you!”

“I’ll fuck him!” I yell. “I’ll suck his cock! Spank me all you want! I don’t care! I’ll fuck him in front of you if I feel like it!” Smack! His hand comes down again, his hot open palm bouncing off my jiggling ass cheeks. My whole body trembles. “You’d like to watch me get fucked by him, wouldn’t you?” I cry, taunting him. “Next time he’s here, I’m gonna suck him off right in front of you!” Smack! His hand comes down hard and swift on the opposite cheek. I make a strangled grunt and swing my ass from side to side. “After I suck him off, I’m gonna fuck him in front of you!” I yell. “And whoever else wants to watch!” I imagine Tommy fucking me and Joel watching with his big wet dick in his hand, and my whole body throbs. I’m wet between my thighs down to my knees. I need to be fucked. I’ll die if he doesn’t fuck me! “Fuck me, Joel!” I beg. “Please fuck me!” He flips me onto my belly, drags me across the bed, and climbs behind me. He slips his hand around my waist and hoists-up my ass. I stick it in his face so he can get to it easily, offering him everything between my thighs.

He takes his cock in his hand and rubs the head against my slippery twat. He squeezes himself in and slowly fucks-in the rest. I feel his cock burning up all through me and spreading itself everywhere, and I can’t hold myself still. He takes himself out completely and fucks himself back in till his wet bush mops against my ass. He does this over and over, splitting me wide open with each shove up my twat. I groan from the pleasure of it all. My whole body’s on fire. He sets himself deep and starts to fiercely fuck me, going after me as hard as he can. “Don’t stop!” I cry, fucking myself against him, my ass raised sky-high. “Don’t stop! It feels so good!” He fucks me so fiercely, I can tell his cock is about to explode. I come, squealing and gasping. I’m still coming as I feel his come pour into me, hot and wet. He fucks his come into me and he doesn’t make a sound. He slowly pulls himself out, collapses onto his side, and wraps me up in his arms. We lay intertwined, limp and exhausted, feeling each other up. The sheets are twisted up between our legs, soaked in our sweat. I spread my legs wide open, my pussy boiling hot. The air’s heavy with the smell of my twat and his balls.

“Lemme ask you something,” he says. “You like having things your own way, yeah?” His tone is playful. He wants to have a little fun.

“Yeah,” I say, playing along. “But it doesn’t happen all that often. You’re the one who makes all the rules.”

“I always give you what you want, don’t I?”

“When you feel like it.”

“If I were you, I’d think about settling down,” he says and I laugh. I laugh because he knows I don't believe in marriage and neither does he. Maybe when he was younger he believed in it but he doesn’t anymore. Even though I don’t believe in it, I think it’s only natural to want to belong to someone. To be committed to someone and get to know them, little by little, over the years. But what’s the point of committing yourself to a short life of pain, misery, and suffering with someone else? I was always embarrassed when I saw married couples in Jackson kissing or holding hands, or making-out in front of everyone. Joel and I don’t act like that. The love we share is quiet and understated. It’s not out in the open for everyone to see. The bond between us is unbreakable, marriage or not. He’s the one I love, even now that his hair’s more gray than brown. He’ll always have my love and admiration. It’ll never change. I’m his and he’s mine.

He doesn’t want to have a child with me even though he told me having children is the most beautiful thing in the world. You fight for them. You live and breathe for them. All you think about is caring for them. Sometimes I look at my flat belly and my small breasts, and I wonder how I’d look swollen with his baby. He doesn’t want a child with me because he says I’m like a child to him. All he has in life is more than he’s ever wanted. I tell him the same thing. I have a secure roof over my head, a loyal honest man who loves me unconditionally, and nice and useful things on a good piece of land. What more could I ask for? I wouldn’t want to change anything. I wouldn’t want a child because it would change us and I’m happy with who we are.

“It’s time you thought about it,” he continues. “You’re nineteen. It’s time to settle down. We already built a home together. It’s only natural.”

“You know how I feel about marriage,” I say.

“You’ll feel differently when you find the right man,” he says with a smile. “So who’s the lucky fella?”

“Is this a proposal?” I ask.

“Does it sound like one?” he asks.

“I’m young enough to be your daughter.”

“And old enough to be my wife.”

“You could be my father.”

“I don’t wanna be your father.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you,” he says.

“You do?” I ask. My voice comes out kind of hoarse. I have to clear my throat. It’s the first time he’s told me this.

“Yes,” he says. “I do. I think I always have.” He pushes his nose along mine and kisses my cheek. “Does that take us back to where we were before?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “You’ll have to show me.”

“I will,” he says.

END OF I OWE IT ALL TO YOU

BY ELSIE GLASS


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